


Boys With Tattoos

by iamtheladyfreak (dragonet)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Appalling use of lollipops as plot points, Biting, Bottom Enjolras, Come Eating, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingering, Holy-fuck-we-can't-make-it-to-the-bedroom-better-fuck-in-the-kitchen Sex, Just filthy smut, M/M, Masochism, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Pain Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tattoo Kink, Top Grantaire, masochist!E, pinned down, tattoo artist!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonet/pseuds/iamtheladyfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unimaginatively named smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys With Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry.

 

“Okay, just hold still now, just a little more...”

Grantaire knows the pain of getting a tattoo well enough. After all, he’s got art on some of the most sensitive places; a quartet of koi swim down his ribs, a sun flares around his right nipple and a crescent moon curls around his left, a pair of crows fly to freedom inside his thighs, and a few dense black lines on his shoulder shout ‘I am as bad as the worst but I am as good as the best’ in heavy font.

So he knows what Enjolras is going through. He carefully traces the curve of the wing up Enjolras’s nape. Every muscle in the younger man’s neck is tense.

“You’re going to give yourself a migraine if you don’t relax,” he chides, turning back to get more ink. Enjolras huffs but he carefully loosens his shoulders.

“That’s better,” Grantaire says. “Just a little more, now.”

The phoenix’s tail trails between Enjolras’s shoulder-blades, its wings rising above its head and sweeping onto the nape of his neck. It’s not discreet. It’s just right.

“I’ve seen you take more pain than this, I’m sure,” Grantaire says, raising a brow as he wipes antiseptic across the angry skin.

Enjolras shrugs, wincing when the new tattoo pulls. “It’s different.”

“Sorry,” says Grantaire, and it’s true he could have finished ten minutes ago but he wanted everything to be totally perfect. “Do you want to look at it now, or when the swelling’s gone?”

“When the swelling’s gone,” Enjolras replies. He still hasn’t stood up. Grantaire wonders if he’s feeling faint - he seems to be having difficulty breathing.

“Okay,” he agrees and runs some cling film over the phoenix, fixing it with fabric tape. Then he gets up with a groan (he still hasn’t recovered from snowboarding on Saturday, the last run was _brutal_ ) and goes to fish a lollipop out of the jar by the door. He comes up with a red one and offers it to Enjolras.

The other man keeps his head low, hidden behind his hair. Grantaire is beginning to really worry about him.

“Here,” he says gently. “Eat this, you need a sugar boost. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras says, taking the lollipop and unwrapping it. Then he looks up at Grantaire just as he slides his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth, and Grantaire gasps. He can’t help it. Enjolras’s lips stretching just a little around the candy, his eyes so big and dark, tongue following suggestively as he pulls off with a pop, it’s too cruel.

And then Grantaire realises.

“Oh, God,” he whispers and steps into Enjolras’s personal space before he can stop himself. “You weren’t – that wasn’t all bad pain, was it?”

“No,” Enjolras admits, casting his eyes down to where – to where the outline of his dick is clear against his skinny jeans. “I’ve been trying not to jump you for the last half an hour.”

“Oh, fuck,” Grantaire murmurs, closing his own eyes. He’s so hard so quickly he feels dizzy. “Enjolras – can I – please-”

“Anything,” Enjolras breathes and Grantaire’s eyes open in shock as Enjolras presses his palm right on Grantaire’s dick, denim crunching between them.

“Gngh,” Grantaire says eloquently. “Upstairs. Now.”

Enjolras makes getting down from the table the most fluid thing in the world. He stops to watch Grantaire lock the door and flip the sign to ‘closed’, and then he gives him a _wicked, wicked_ look and runs away upstairs.

Grantaire can’t stop a grin. If that’s how he wants to play it…

He catches Enjolras on the first landing, careful of the new tattoo as he seizes the man’s shoulders and pins him on the wall, the way he knows Enjolras loves, all spread out and powerless. Neither of them make a sound but Enjolras’s lips are sticky with sugar and he tastes like artificial strawberries and his tongue is the best thing in the world.

Enjolras crosses his ankles in the small of Grantaire’s back, making little choked noises as Grantaire kisses down his neck and purposefully doesn’t bite even though Enjolras’s skin is crying out for it. Grantaire heaves him off the wall, spins them into the kitchen because fuck it, the bedroom is up seven more steps and that’s seven steps too many. Next time, he promises himself, if there is a next time, he’ll have Enjolras tied down on his mattress, make him scream and cry and plead.

He deposits Enjolras on the kitchen table, clever fingers flicking the buttons on his jeans, stroking over soft skin and hipbones, just dipping under the waistband of his boxers to feel the heat there, and pulling away. Enjolras groans helplessly, pushing against him.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, R.”

Grantaire shivers, hearing his name like a prayer from that mouth. It’s everything he ever wanted.

“What do you need?” he asks softly, running his fingernails over Enjolras’s waistband lightly. The younger man shudders and closes his eyes.  
“I want you to open me up on this table all rough and then fuck me through the floor,” he says. “I don’t want to be able to sit comfortably for a week. I want blood and bruises and I want to have no control over how loud I’m screaming your name.”

“Oh fuck,” Grantaire says again, jerking helplessly because he is so, _so_ down with that. He tips Enjolras backwards, yank his jeans off and chucks them somewhere near the cooker.

“Lube,” Enjolras wonders but Grantaire just rolls his eyes and scrabbles for the drawer by the fridge, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom. He shrugs under the scrutiny he receives.

“Sometimes,” he says, licking the hollow of Enjolras’s throat, “living alone has its benefits,” he flicks his tongue over one nipple, “such as,” he sucks the other one and bites it into his mouth and Enjolras yelps thinly, “being able to jack off in any room of this place,” he restrains the writhing man with both hands on his hips, hard, “and shove whatever I want up myself, whenever.” He grins into Enjolras’s stomach, feeling his dick twitch against his neck.

“Bastard,” Enjolras gasps. “Get inside me already. I haven’t waited this fucking long to wait some more.”

Grantaire just laughs and files that comment away for later perusal, already reaching with wet fingers and Enjolras jumps. Grantaire opens him up on two fingers, has to bite at Enjolras’s hips and thighs savagely to contain his own joy.

“Come on – come on,” Enjolras whimpers. “Please, please R.”

His own touch feels so good as he rolls the condom on that he strokes twice, just because he can, breath shuddering between his teeth. Enjolras digs impatient heels into his buttocks, reels him in like a fish on a line.

“Put me on my face,” Enjolras pants. “Fucking use me, bend me over this table and fuck me until I pass out, _oh god please_ -”

 Grantaire flips him, marvels at the way his hands span the whole of Enjolras’s back, one each side of his spine, trapping the younger man and holding him down, presenting his flushed and open ass, glistening with lube and Grantaire’s dick twitches violently at the sight. He swears silently.

“Come on, come on,” Enjolras chants. “Come on, you asshole – oh –”

Grantaire sinks in inch by inch, going cross-eyed. The urge to just rut away is so strong but he tamps it down. Enjolras is so fucking tight.

“Okay?” he asks hoarsely once he’s bottomed out. Enjolras’s fingers are tangled in his own hair. He nods wildly, whimpering.

Grantaire groans as he pulls out, feeling every millimetre of Enjolras’s ass contracting around him even through the condom. He fucks back in hard and deep and Enjolras cries out.

“Oh god, yes, yes,” he sobs as Grantaire holds him down at the small of the back and pounds into him so hard the table jolts against the wall, every other thrust hitting Enjolras’s prostate and making him arch his back even further. He’s so close to the edge, running right along it, but he can’t come until Grantaire does. Grantaire, who’s sinking his teeth again and again into the meat of Enjolras’s shoulders, providing that welcome edge of pain, the agony of sharp nails digging down his hips and bruising fingers clenching around his burning cock – it’s all overwhelming and it hurts to come, it hurts so nicely, his back bowing as he tightens unbearably around Grantaire, so big and warm inside him, and pulses hot come all over his fingers.

“Jesus,” Grantaire moans and brings his fingers up to Enjolras’s mouth, where Enjolras licks at them, sucking his own come off that calloused hand. “Eat it, clean it up,” he chokes. “Oh God, eat your fucking come off my fingers, ugh-”

And he sinks deep and Enjolras can actually feel him coming into the condom, endless pulses in time with the throbbing of Enjolras’s asshole.

“Ohhh,” Grantaire breathes, resting his forehead on Enjolras’s spine. The cling film over the new tattoo is peeling up with sweat. He pats it down absently.

“Gngh,” Enjolras tells the table. He wriggles uncomfortably when Grantaire pulls out, and rolls over.

He watches Grantaire throw the condom in the vague direction of the bin and sink down into a kitchen chair. He’s still wearing his t-shirt and socks, ink splattered on his wrists from Enjolras’s tattoo.

A rather awkward silence follows.

 “So…” Grantaire says hesitantly. “That was-”

“Amazing,” Enjolras interrupts because he couldn’t stand it if Grantaire said something like ‘unexpected’ or ‘weird’.

“Amazing,” Grantaire agrees, a smile creeping up. Enjolras loves to see Grantaire smile.

“Can we do that again?” Enjolras asks.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire says, mock-serious. “How many tattoos do you want?”

 


End file.
